


Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half-hidden smiles, brief touches and genuine conversations. Working with Ariadne was a wonderful and exquisite kind of torture. Arthur was slowly being driven insane by it.</p><p>Incorporates <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/11005.html?thread=22591485#t22591485">two</a> <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/11005.html?thread=22645501#t22645501">prompts</a> from the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Ariadne hadn't missed the yellow scarf she had forgotten on her workstation. It still faintly smelled like her, the aroma that was uniquely hers alone. She generally didn't wear perfume, though on special occasions she favored floral scents that were more feminine than her usual style of dress. she kept a hair brush in the drawer of her desk for humid or rainy days; she never noticed a few stray hairs missing on occasion. Once she left a sweater behind, when the weather perked up midday. She asked everyone in the warehouse if they had seen it, but after a while assumed she had left it at home. She had many cardigans, so she didn't really miss the loss of one.

Ariadne sometimes chewed on the backs of pencils as she worked, generally when thinking hard about something. On occasion, she misplaced one or two, but she didn't keep track of that sort of thing. She made paper sketches as well as CAD sketches, and she was more concerned with her sketch pads, notebooks or flash drives than a stray pencil or pen. Half the time she found one rolled beneath her desk or against the bookcase.

She definitely didn't keep track of discarded sketches; those were balled up and tossed into the trash.

Lipstick smeared across her pens or pencils or got eaten as she chewed on her lips or the insides of her mouth in thought. She favored lip glosses or regular lip balms anyway. She generally was a minimalist for hair or makeup, though that more due to her focus on work than an inability to use the products. She spent five minutes as a rule - foundation with SPF rating, maybe mascara and then lip gloss. The fancy occasions warranted more effort, and she could look utterly stunning then.

Arthur knew all these things about her. He kept a close eye on her and collected all of her stray items. There was a trunk at home with her things, locked and kept at the back of his closet. No one knew about his quiet interest.

Ariadne smiled at him as she would any other member of the team. Sometimes Arthur told himself there was a special smile, just for him. At other times he couldn't delude himself quite so well. She considered him a trusted and close friend, cherishing his opinion for work or even personal issues. She had been pleasantly flustered by his kiss on the Fischer job, even if it had been rather perfunctory as far as Arthur's kisses could be. She wasn't unaffected by his presence, which was gratifying to know.

Neither wanted to disrupt the work relationship, however.

It was a delicate balance in the dance they did. Half-hidden smiles, brief touches and genuine conversations. Working together was a wonderful and exquisite kind of torture.

Arthur was slowly being driven insane by it.

The first time he was able to vent, it had been a complete accident. He had been following the subject to a seedy section of Bonn. From there, the subject went to the red light district and purchased the company of two redheaded women. He would be occupied for hours if he kept to his usual routine. Arthur was about to leave when he thought he saw Ariadne.

The girl was wearing a cardigan against the cold and her back was to Arthur. She had a petite frame and loose curls in her dark hair. Arthur couldn't breathe until she turned around. She was very definitely _not_ Ariadne, and her time was very definitely _not_ freely given.

It was possibly the best spent money he had ever paid in Bonn.

The girl was a professional, and didn't question why she had to keep the cardigan on. She merely smiled, nodded and asked what he'd like. He knew this wasn't Ariadne, but _fuck_ if he hadn't dreamt of her asking him just that. Arthur fucked the girl's mouth hard, his fingers tangled in her dark hair. He came abruptly, spilling down her throat. For the first time in weeks, he felt at peace.

"She's special, isn't she?" the girl asked knowingly. Arthur froze and she merely smiled as she pocketed the fee. "it's lovely, really. She must be a wonderful girl."

"Yeah," Arthur rasped, feeling almost embarrassed. He never spoke of this out loud.

But the floodgates were opened. He searched out the red light districts in various places. The subject was that kind of man, so it wasn't terribly out of place. And if Arthur was prepared... Well, he was supposed to be. It was part of his job. And really, he needed the scent of Ariadne filling his lungs as the various faceless girls slaked his thirst. He held Ariadne's scarf in his clenched fist and breathed her in as he pounded into some girl from behind, head pressed down and moans muffled. If his mind screamed Ariadne's name, there was no on else to hear it.

It might have gone on indefinitely, but there was a mistake on one of the levels. It wasn't anything Ariadne could have known; Arthur should have realized that there was more to the pattern of girls that the subject chose other than red hair. If anything, he should have known that the subject was recreating someone in his mind. Arthur was doing the exact same thing, even if he wasn't ready to admit it. Ariadne built up the mazes based on the information he had passed to her. Eames did his best with the forgery, but the subject knew something was wrong with the girl he had brought back to his room. The projections flooded the hotel, and Arthur was neatly garroted even as he tried to memorize the data he had gone in to steal.

Ariadne helped to pull the lead out of his arm and pressed the gauze against his arm. "What happened? You came out too soon."

"We have to go. We have to get Eames out and go."

"It's too early. There's still another hour of dream time left..."

"He knew something was wrong." Arthur pressed a hand to his throat, the one she wasn't holding. "We have to go."

Ariadne frowned and opened his jacket. "Why is my scarf in your jacket? I thought I lost that months ago."

Eames was stirring, and Arthur looked over at him. "We have to get him out of here, Ariadne."

"Arthur, what the hell is going on?" she asked, frowning at him.

Eames' eyes shot open and he gasped for breath. "Fuck. That bastard's _angry._ We need to get hell out of here _now."_

They left the hotel without being spotted, the silver briefcase caught tightly in Arthur's grasp. He cursed himself for carrying the scarf still, but he had been so wound up and tense that he had needed a little fantasy pick me up before the job. God, this was _sloppy._ This obsession was going to be the death of him, and he had to get it out of his head before he got someone hurt.

Ariadne stopped him as he stowed the PASIV in its hiding place in the office suite they had rented. Eames was out front, checking the windows to make sure they weren't followed. "What is going on with you? You're so distant lately and you disappear sometimes. And you have my scarf in your jacket. Why?"

"Just forget it, okay? Do you want it back?" He had three others in his trunk at home. He wouldn't miss this one that much.

"What kind of an answer is that?"

"The only one you're going to get," Arthur said stiffly. He regretted the words as soon as she jerked back as if slapped. He had always been friendly with her, cordial at worst. She had never gotten the cold response from him before, and didn't know how to deal with it.

She had thought Arthur was better than that. She had thought they were friends. It hurt so much to be wrong about that.

Eyes shining with tears, Ariadne slapped him across the face. "You don't get to treat me like shit just because you're upset something went wrong on the job," she said tightly. She turned and left the room intending to get home before she actually broke down into tears. She tried to wave off Eames' questions about why she slapped Arthur and why she was upset, but his concern was too much. She backed up against the wall of the suite, her hands over her lower face as she began to cry.

She struggled when Arthur grasped her arms. "Just get out of here," he told Eames angrily. "I upset her, I'll fix it."

"Look, darling, your technique is just shit," Eames protested. "Ariadne, are you all right?"

She looked at him, and then at the desperate expression on Arthur's face. Her instincts told her that he didn't mean her harm, no matter what she had thought a few minutes ago. "I'll be fine. I just got upset."

His lips compressed into a fine line, and he glared at Arthur. "You make her run, and I'll fuck you up."

Arthur nodded his understanding, and he waited in silence until Eames grabbed his jacket to leave. He turned back to Ariadne, who was sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Why? Did it upset you that much that something went wrong? There's such a thing as being too goddamn work oriented, you know."

He gave a bark of disbelieving laughter. "It has nothing to do with the job Ariadne," he said, crowding into her personal space. He ran the backs of his fingers along the curve of her cheek, watching as her eyes widened fractionally. "I've been distracted lately, but it has _nothing_ to do with the job. It has everything to do with you."

"With me?" she asked, her voice fracturing slightly.

"You know why I had your scarf?" he asked, his lips hovering just an inch in front of her forehead. She shook her head, eyes wide as she watched his face. "It smells like you. It reminds me of you. I keep telling myself I'll fuck things up if I ever make a move past friendship."

"Arthur..."

"Will I? Will I really ruin everything? I'm going insane without you," he rasped, his fingers trailing down her cheek and then her neck. He could feel a tremor running through her. "I think of you. It doesn't matter when or how or what I'm doing. You're always on my mind. I have so many things to do, so much to research, and all I can do is dream of you. All I can do is think of you."

She shivered at the intensity in his voice, at the desire in his eyes. "Arthur. I... I thought it was just me," she whispered. Her fingertips traced the edge of his suit jacket, almost as if she was afraid this wasn't real. "That kiss always seemed like a joke..."

He kissed her, mouth covering hers completely, his hands moving to lift her up. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she ran her hands along his back. She held him and wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him back with all of the pent up desire she had for him. It was a kiss that seemed to go on forever, and Ariadne was drowning in it. Her breath caught, and she made a low noise deep in her throat that might have been a request for more. Arthur kept kissing her, adjusting his grip so he could carry her from the wall to the desk in the office.

It was a tangle of hands and clothes, but everything came off and Ariadne was laid bare beneath Arthur. She was better than he had imagined, better than anything he could have dreamed because this was _real_ and she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her legs parted as he stroked them, and her hands ran down his chest. Arthur could smell the scent of her, could almost taste her on his tongue. He let his eyes rake over her for a second, his lips parted. He wanted to taste every inch of her, wanted to run his fingertips over the skin that had tantalized him. "You're perfect," he breathed.

And then he slid inside her, and it was all he could do to keep from coming right there.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, back arching up as she gasped for breath. He moved inside of her with deep strokes as she raked her nails across his back. Her moans were delicious to hear, genuinely appreciative and wanting more. She was hot and wet and tight around him, and Arthur reveled in the feel of her. She was perfect, better than he had imagined, better than any of the whores he had hired on to pretend he was with her. He moaned, leaning forward so that he could tangle his hands in her hair and kiss her as he moved. Ariadne ran her hands down his back again, then grasped his buttocks and pulled him in deeper. The kiss broke so they could breathe, and her groans and gasps were pushing him to the limit. She tightened around him, close to coming. He grit his teeth to try to draw it out, but he was coming inside of her with a strangled groan. Arthur thumbed her clit hard, and Ariadne came with a sharp cry, hands tight on his ass.

Arthur blinked as he struggled to breathe, hands still tangled in her hair. "Wow."

Ariadne laughed a little, eyes dancing in that way they did whenever she was truly pleased with something. "Worth the wait."

"Definitely."

She looked at him shyly over her shoulder as they dressed, and she was do doubt sticky and wet. He wanted to push her down onto her back again, or against the wall. He wanted to see her above him, mouth falling open as she gasped for breath, her hands clutching his shoulders tight for balance.

After this, he couldn't have anyone else. There was no comparison.

"Can I...?" he began, just as she grasped his hands. "Come over to my place," she said without preamble. "You don't have anywhere to go tomorrow, do you?"

"No," he said, feeling as though he had just been hit upside the head. He resisted the urge to feel for his totem.

Her smile was beautiful and all for him. "Good. You can stay over, then."

Arthur grinned at her in response. He had so many fantasies that he had promised himself he would try to live out if he ever got the chance. By the expression on Ariadne's face, she didn't plan on sleeping tonight, either.

The End


End file.
